One Dark and Snowy Night
by Moontyger
Summary: A Dragon Age shack fic.


"You know, it is quite amazing the things I have agreed to do since I left the Crows. I have resigned myself to living in this country of mud and dogs. I have consented to not use my skills when they would have made things so much easier. And now, here I am – barely able to see for all this snow and freezing my -"

"You didn't have to stay, you know." Alistair cut him off, a little more curtly than he might otherwise have done. Not only did he not want to hear where that sentence was going – knowing Zevran, it would go into far too much unnecessary detail – but he had to admit the elf had a point. The snow was coming down so hard that he could barely make anything out and it was likely to just get worse once it got fully dark. And that wasn't even mentioning the cold – it had been quite some time since he'd been able to feel his feet. Which brought up another point, one he probably should have mentioned before they started on this journey.

"You wouldn't be quite so cold if you didn't wear that armor with the little leather skirts. Why _do_ you wear that anyway?" Alistair, for one, had never seen the point in armor that left anything important without protection and he was rather glad no one had ever expected him to wear it. Truthfully, he would have considered it impossible for _anyone_ to wear it without looking silly, but that was before he met Zevran, who somehow managed to pull it off.

"It is armor traditional among the Dalish," Zevran replied, as though this were any sort of proper answer.

"Yes, and it's very practical for traipsing about the forest, I'm sure. Maybe it's some sort of initiation ritual – if you can wear it and lose less than a pint of blood, you're in! … Besides, you're not Dalish."

"True. But the Warden is and he gave it to me. I believe he likes the way it looks. Have you seen the direction of his stare when I walk by the campfire?"

Alistair was saved from having to answer by the simple expedient of walking straight into something – something large and solid enough that he grunted with the impact. "Oww! Hang on, I've walked into something."

Squinting through the whirling clouds of white, the same shade as both ground and sky, he could vaguely make out a squarish sort of shape. From the feel of it, he guessed it to be wood. "I think it's a house."

"You walked into a house? … No, no, it is too easy."

Working more by feel than sight, they worked their way around until they found the door. Given the weather, they didn't even discuss whether or not they should go inside. If anyone lived there, surely they could see that it would be cruel to turn them away until the storm stopped.

Once inside, it was scarcely much warmer. It took some time for their eyes to adjust to the dimness, but once they had, Alistair's heart sank. "I don't think anyone's lived here for years."

"Then they can't object if we use whatever they left behind." As he had to admit that Zevran was right yet again, he joined him in searching. They came up with little enough – just some rickety chairs that could probably be used for firewood, along with a small pile of it left by the fireplace that would hopefully still burn. Alistair busied himself with chopping the chairs into pieces, though he winced a little at using his sword that way, while Zevran dug into their packs. At least they wouldn't be entirely without supplies.

Once he had a fire going, he looked at what they had. One sleeping roll each, some bread that was probably frozen solid by now, some jerky, a little tea, and a jug of ale they'd miraculously managed to rescue from Oghren's obsession with drinking everything alcoholic in the entire camp. "You see? I told the Warden I shouldn't lead this expedition. This is what always happens. If this storm doesn't break soon, we'll either freeze or starve." Alistair glanced down at himself and the puddle forming around his feet as the snow crusted on his armor melted from the heat of the fire. "At least I still have my pants."

"Not for long!" Zevran sounded entirely too cheerful as he made that statement and it wasn't helped by the fact that he was standing entirely too close, though that could probably be explained by Alistair standing directly in front of the fire and blocking most of the heat.

While he shuffled to the side, trying not to be too obvious about it, the elf continued, still looking surprisingly happy given the situation. "We do not have much wood and our bedrolls are not meant for these conditions. If we are too avoid the freezing you mentioned, we should share body heat, but I do not intend to cuddle a pile of cold metal."

Alistair opened his mouth to protest, but was surprised to find himself agreeing. It _was_ a good plan; he'd heard tales from Duncan of Grey Wardens doing such things in these conditions. Somehow, it had seemed entirely different when he was merely hearing about it, maybe because he'd never imagined having to share body heat with someone like Zevran, who seemed to either be obsessed with things sexual or merely to delight in making everyone uncomfortable – or perhaps a little of both.

He tried very hard not to look behind him as he got undressed; if the elf was watching, he didn't want to know. He tried not to look at Zevran either, a task made much easier once they'd arranged the bedrolls around them both. Which didn't mean he couldn't _feel_ him, something that might have been more distracting had Zevran's skin not been icy enough to illustrate that Alistair had been right about the armor.

"You're freezing!" It was enough to trigger the sort of protective instincts he'd been mocked for in the Templars; without a second thought, he wrapped his body around that of the smaller elf. Funny how concern for someone else could make him feel less embarrassed.

At least, it could until Zevran opened his mouth. "You know, I have heard stories about people trapped in cabins such as this and forced to share blankets..."

Alistair sighed and tried unsuccessfully not to listen. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
